


A Crown of Wax

by iguanastevens



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, High Fantasy, Historical Fantasy, Inspired by The Fall of Icarus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), M/M, Memory Loss, Moral Ambiguity, Mythology - Freeform, Otayuri Mini-Bang 2019, Politics, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Slow Burn, off-screen violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-01-29 08:28:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21407203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iguanastevens/pseuds/iguanastevens
Summary: What if the story of Icarus and his wings didn't end when he plummeted into the churning sea?Otabek dreamed of the sun, yet he finds himself in the Underworld and its endless night. Yuri, the captain of the royal guard, is fascinated by the unexpected guest who claims to have no memory of his past - and, unfortunately, he's not the only one with an interest.They're caught between a powerful enemy and two fragile kingdoms: the Underworld still bears the scars from a brutal rebellion, while the distant Sun Realm lays under a bloody crown. It's a delicate situation, and it grows all the more volatile as Otabek's true history becomes clear.
Relationships: Jean-Jacques Leroy/Isabella Yang (background), Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov (background), Mila Babicheva & Yuri Plisetsky, Otabek Altin & Leo de la Iglesia, Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11
Collections: Otayuri Mini-Bang 2019





	1. ACT I

**Author's Note:**

> HEY Y'ALL, anyone remember how I keep looking at my plethora of mythology-based metaphors, sighing, and saying I should just write a damn Icarus retelling already?  
Well, here it is. 
> 
> This work was created as part of the Otayuri Mini-Bang 2019. Big love to Mel ([phylocalist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phylocalist)), the event organizer, to the other mods, and all the writers, artists, and betas - three years in, and we're still ride or die for this ship - as well as [Kenda1L](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kenda1L) for help with editing. 
> 
> And of course, huge shout-out to Maddy, who swooped in at the last moment and used (I assume) actual fucking magic to make the banner here and the full, gorgeous illustration that appear in the second chapter. THANK. Her art can be found on [twitter](https://twitter.com/maddymation/status/1194411963176144897?s=20) and [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/p/B4ySXSfpCpw/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link).
> 
> This fic will be posted as four acts with one chapter each. The second should be up this weekend, and the last two will follow... soon. They're almost entirely written, but grad school is kicking my ass and so editing is a bit slower than I'd like. 
> 
> And, uh. MINOR DISCLAIMER HERE: when I say slow burn, I mean burn, but I also mean slow. Prepare yourself

  


**PROLOGUE**

Brilliant light flooded his eyes. It put the sun to shame and consumed his world in an instant, leaving behind nothing but the barren, searing glow. The emptiness drowned his screams; they shuddered in his breathless throat as the light’s eyeless gaze fell on him- 

Cool water brushed his lips. He drank. 

Darkness flowed over him. It poured into his thoughts and settled in his veins. He couldn’t taste it, though its oily chill coated his tongue. 

“We’ve spilled enough blood today, daeni-kir_._” 

He reached for the muffled words with hands that were no longer his own. He had been swept away by the endless night and his body had forgotten him. 

The voice grew faint and meaningless. He did not know its tone and cadence, nor could he understand the final, lingering whisper that echoed through the blackness. 

“This life was never meant for you.” 

He faded. 

**ACT I**

** **

> The Sun turned, and she saw that they had not departed to explore the new lands she had created. They did not shield their eyes as they knelt before her.
> 
> None had dared look upon the Sun. She saw their wonder. She saw their pain, and Yidáe bid that they turn away.

The castle drowsed in the afternoon heat. 

At a glance, it might have been abandoned. The tools of half-finished chores lay discarded in the courtyard, left to the dubious care of the chickens scratching sleepily in the dust. Heavy, bumbling black flies buzzed through doors and windows that had been flung open to welcome a nonexistent breeze. 

Midsummer promised sun, and sun it had delivered: the castle’s residents, human and beast alike, retreated to the depths held within its cool stone walls. They would emerge to finish the day’s work once the worst of the heat had eased. 

Until then, the castle held its breath and waited for evening. 

Otabek closed his eyes, tilting his face up to catch the spilling beams of sunlight. They were stronger here on the turret, carrying a heady energy that was lost between the roof and the earth. 

Beside him, someone spoke. 

“The Sun’s gift was this: that she would not blind them nor scorch their skin, and that she would forever watch over this realm that was dear to her above all others.” 

The soft reverence lifted the silence without breaking it, and Otabek pressed his palms to the hot stone wall as he listened. The words and their speaker’s measured, rolling meter carried the enigmatic familiarity of day-old dreams; like dreams, Otabek let them pass undisturbed. 

“A story?”

“An old song.” A young man inspected Otabek through locks of tawny hair. “A ballad recounting the dawn of Yidáenas – one among many, though perhaps the most ancient of those that remain.” 

A wave of vertigo crashed over him. Otabek exhaled slowly, clearing his mind as he waited for the tide to recede, not wishing to plunge into the cavern of absent memories. He shook his head to dislodge the tune, but it kept humming in his ears like one of the bumbling black flies. 

“Very few find themselves here,” Otabek said. The visitor propped his elbows on the sandstone slabs to lean out over the courtyard. Otabek was sallow and fragile beside him, like a poppy grown in poor soil dwindling next to its thriving brethren. “Not during the sun’s watch.” 

“I was looking for you.” 

The midsummer afternoon dripped with sunlight. 

“I see.”

“You truly do not remember. I didn’t…” 

The undisguised anguish pinned Otabek where he stood, pleading for reassurance he couldn’t offer. He ached, but the pain was nothing more than a stranger’s shattered reflection. 

The man flinched. It was nothing more than bowed shoulders and a twitch of his jaw, but that was enough to startle Otabek from his trance. 

Who had this visitor expected to find? 

“No. I do not remember,” Otabek replied cautiously. It was nothing so simple as forgetting: whoever he might have been before was gone, leaving only his ghost to drift through Otabek’s thoughts. _Kir-an, _it whispered. “I’m sorry.” 

“You knew me as Leo,” the man – Leo, _kir-an, _a stranger – continued, searching in vain for a hint of recognition. “We were close. I called you-“ 

The dead did not mourn the living, and Otabek owed no debts to a life he hadn’t lived.

“Otabek. My name is Otabek, and I have no other.” 

“Otabek.” Leo paused, turning it over in his mouth like a riddle. “Otabek. I’ve thought you dead for many years.” 

_ Now you see that you were right. _

Otabek forced himself to meet the somber gaze. It did not suit him. Leo should be laughing. His face was made to wear joy, with eternally inquisitive brows and hooded eyes set to sparkle with mirth. They were a study in contrasts: one cheerful, one grave, and one- 

The path ended there. Otabek felt very, very small. 

“I am not the person you knew. I don’t remember that life.” 

Leo closed his eyes and let out a slow, shaky sigh. 

“That life remembers you, kir-lenye_._” 

“My name-” 

“It’s not a name. It…” Leo traced invisible patterns in the sandstone with the tip of his finger, then gripped the edge so tightly that his knuckles paled. “It isn’t important.” 

He was a terrible liar, but Otabek tried to believe him. 

“I searched for you. I was not the only one looking.” 

“They have no quarrel with me.” 

_ I am not him, _Otabek told himself. _His life was not mine-_

And yet he bore its scars, a web of fine white lines scored across his hands and arms. 

_ My life is not his- _

And yet Leo stood before him, not quite a stranger. 

_ I am not him- _

And yet…

_ He is still me. _

“I don’t have any clever stories to tell you.” Leo ran a hand through his hair, which had grown increasingly disheveled since his arrival. It made him look younger. “I don’t know who hid you here or why you can’t remember. If something beyond fortune sheltered you, I don’t know why it failed after so long.” His voice grew so soft that Otabek could scarce make it out, and despite himself, he leaned closer to listen. “You have no reason to believe me, but I implore that you do. You must be gone before the others find you.” 

Leo’s painfully earnest stare flicked anxiously to the peaceful sky. 

“Who is looking for me?” 

“It may be a mercy that you are not forced to recall him.” Leo looked up again, and a chill ran through Otabek. “You say you are not the man I know, and if that- if that is so, then I have truly lost him. At least let me save you.” 

There was nothing in the sky but for the wispy augurs of a coming storm, but Leo’s expression reflected none of its calm. Otabek wasn’t sure where the border was drawn between truth and honesty. He believed Leo. He also knew that a single leaf could not describe a tree. 

“He will kill you,” Leo spat. “He won’t care whether or not you remember. He won’t give you a chance to fight. If you plead for a reprieve, he might listen until watching you beg no longer amuses him. If you stay here, you will die.” 

Leo’s face was twisted with bitterness. He watched Otabek expectantly, as if waiting for him to announce a plan or refuse to retreat entirely. If that was what the lost boy from his past would have done, it was yet another testament to his absence: Otabek’s mind filled with naught but creeping dread that chased out the sun’s warmth, leaving him listless and bewildered. If Leo were to walk away, Otabek would stand frozen until his unnamed pursuer found him. 

“What should I do?” 

The ghost of a smile crossed Leo’s face. 

“We take flight. 

> Though the Sun-Seekers trembled at her command, this they could not do. They had followed the Sun beyond the horizon and into the sky itself. They implored her to leave her light in their eyes, for they could not bear such a loss. 
> 
> Yidáe did not wish to cause them pain. As the last darkness fled from their sight, she named them Yidáen-ekari and welcomed her children home.

** **

The wings were heavy. 

Otabek’s shoulders strained against their bulk immediately. He couldn’t bend his arms to rub at the spots where the stiff feathers itched against his skin. They were locked in place with thick leather straps; pulling at them only served to leave his wrists smarting and tender. 

He had some doubts about this plan. 

Leo shrugged on his own wings with easy nonchalance. His worried glances towards the horizon were briefer but more frequent, which left Otabek with the impression that he was no longer looking for something but instead marking the progress of its approach. 

When Otabek examined the sky, he found only sunlight and endless blue depths. 

“Ready?” Leo asked, drawing Otabek’s attention from the ether. 

Otabek couldn’t answer, but he wasn’t afraid of falling. 

He was afraid of what would happen if they flew. 

A breeze caught the wings, nearly knocking Otabek off his feet. His stumble was enough of a response for Leo; they half-leapt, half-tumbled from the turret and into open air. 

Otabek’s eyes filled with sunlight as the wings pulled him up. His cry of shock and exhilaration quickly turned to a laugh. 

“It will get easier as we climb.” Leo’s voice danced through the buffeting gusts of wind. His own laughter was rusty and hoarse. It didn’t sound right, but it was better than his half-sobbed pleas. 

They were close, so close. A siren’s aria dropped an anchor in Otabek’s heart. 

Winter was long. Otabek had known nothing but its dull, slow depths. He was given no chance to realize that it had made him slow and dull as well, but finally- finally, with icy wind stinging his cheeks and sunlight blazing on a face never meant to endure the dim glow of moonless nights- 

He tasted the eager rush of spring and, beyond it, summer’s heady heat. Otabek left the ground behind as he rose from winter’s grasp. Gravity waned as the land fell away, but Otabek’s muscles were still drowsy, still slow; each beat of his wings threatened to shred the abused sinew of his shoulders and chest. 

He’d grown weak. 

The condemnation taunted him. Otabek fled, but it was too late; the accusation had caught the scent of blood. His stomach lurched and he slipped through the air with a gasp until his wings again caught the wind. 

It would be so easy to get lost in the endless blue. 

“Be _careful,_” Leo reminded him in a terse hiss. “We can’t be seen. You can’t be seen, not yet.” 

“Where will we land?” The answer would mean nothing to him. Otabek hadn’t strayed beyond the keep’s grounds; he couldn’t even name the nearest town. “Do we flee tosomewhere, or do we simply flee?” 

There was no sign of the earth. For a moment, Otabek was sure that they’d flown too far, and an instant later he was certain he could feel the rocks rushing up behind him. He twisted to look over his shoulder, his heart pounding, and found only interminable empty space. 

It was so easy to get lost in the endless blue. He didn’t belong here. He should be within the keep’s solid walls, slow and small and content with his quiet, unchanging life. 

“We’ll make camp beneath the lion’s paw.” Leo was more at ease than he’d been in- than he’d been in the castle Otabek could not name. 

The sky below was not sky. It wore the same face, but it was waves, not clouds, that crested the drowning depths. 

“Do you tire?” 

“Perhaps I do.” The water unsettled him. He couldn’t find the point at which the endless sea turned to endless sky. “Yes.” 

“We need not press so hard once we reach the clouds.” 

Otabek peered ahead as a column of fog took shape, appearing as if called to shroud them in its grey wings. It billowed, shifting as they drew near. He recoiled, briefly convinced that he’d caught a glimpse of some massive, formless face in the mist. 

A ceaseless, rumbling growl jarred his very bones. 

“I’ve not seen a storm such as this.” 

“It is no storm. There’s a waterfall at its heart – snowmelt, or so I’ve been told.” 

“And what do your songs say?” 

The waterfall roared, echoing the sun’s soaring melody in mournful, mocking tones. 

“The songs tell of a lake atop the highest peaks. Its surface is smoother than glass and blacker than night. Upon it float the stars, and with them… a single ship, patiently awaiting its crew.” 

> Yidáe regarded the lakes and mountains of her realm with pride. She crowned the newborn Yidáenas with a promise, and her promise was this: that the Sun-Seekers’ children would forever tell the story of the first flight, and that they would one day chase a distant star. 

“And what do you think?” Otabek pulls himself from the hypnotic lull of Leo’s tale. His stories had a magnetic rhythm, a weight that whispered of long-hidden secrets – not lost, but slumbering until they were roused from their beds of ancient dust. “Melting snow, or a sea of stars?” 

The pain in Otabek’s arms was all that spoke to their ascent; there were no landmarks by which to chart their course. Otabek strained for a glimpse of rocky cliffs or frost-jeweled slopes, but if they had reached land, it was hidden by the shroud of mist. 

“I think it is worth climbing the mountain to find out.”

> The Sun carved a river to guide them. It spilled from the lake with such force that the bedrock split into a great chasm. The water did not stop. It rushed into the world her people had just left. Yidáe warned them, and her warning was this-

He did not – could not – look up. 

Otabek’s thoughts were slow. He longed for the sun, for enough clarity to make sense of the incongruous riddles – or perhaps Otabek did understand, and instead wished that he did not. 

Aloud, he asked, “And, if you were to find a ship and a starry sea, would you set sail?” 

Leo did not respond at once. His answer, when it finally came, was nearly lost to the howling winds. 

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.” They broke from the fog. “Would you?” 

“I think…” At last Otabek lifted his gaze to the Sun Realm’s glittering peaks. “I think I already have.” 

The waterfall howled its desire to drag them from the sky and into the wine-dark sea. Otabek’s skin prickled with the biting thrill of a summer storm; his clothing stiffened with the salt of drying sweat as steam spilled from his wings and joined the fog. The churning clouds grew scarlet. 

> ‘You have flown,’ Yidáe cautioned. ‘But do not fall, ikar-ni.’

Scorching wax dripped from his fingers. The wind teased at a trembling feather before tearing it away. Otabek cried out as more followed, choking on smoke and greasy ashes. His wings continued to burn. 

Otabek was falling. 

Leo shouted, diving with hands outstretched. Otabek grabbed for him, though Leo’s wing-trapped arms could never bear their weight combined. Beads of molten wax hung in the ether. 

“Please, Leo-“ 

They were no more than a breath apart. 

A gust of brutal wind sent Otabek tumbling and snatched Leo’s wings with gleeful malice. A spray of droplets stung Otabek’s cheek, drawing a gasp full of icy water as he plunged into the merciless current. 

Otabek struggled until stillness worked its way into his aching muscles. The ocean waited patiently, maw agape, while he was carried into the abyss. 

The water roiled, unwilling to relinquish its prey so quickly. It struck him hard enough to send white light streaking through his skull. Reflex forced his eyes open to darkness - darkness, and a single point of gleaming gold. 

_ The sun. _

He’d found the sun. 


	2. Act II

Yuri endured years of stringent training before he was assigned to his first solitary patrol. He learned to fight, to observe, to move so silently that not even the screech owls ruffled a feather at his passing. Now, as the first of the Watch’s fifty heads, even Yuri’s own volatile temper was under his command.

Consequently, he only cursed a little when a man was thrown out of the river in front of him. 

“We actually do have a gate.” Nonplussed, Yuri tightened his grip on his spear and lifted his lantern to get a better look. “In case you had not heard.” 

The intruder blinked up at Yuri from where he lay sprawled on the ivory shore. He coughed once, frowning, surprised to find himself with a lungful of air. Behind him, the maelstrom purred smugly, pleased as a cat that had dropped a mouse at Yuri’s feet. 

The man was not the largest thing to wind up on these pale shores, nor the strangest. Alciena was an experienced hunter; if Yuri leaned in, the white river bank would resolve into a bed of broken shells and bare, bleached bones – most were the slender, fragile skeletons of fish and unwary birds, but not all. 

However, this one could not be left among the bones. 

“Oi, Mila!” Yuri took care not to turn his back on the man, trusting that his shout would find Mila’s sharp ears. “Alciena, now.” 

The visitor seemed content to lie still and catch his breath as water streamed from his sodden hair and clothes. There was something familiar in the sharp cast of his features. They may have met in passing, though Yuri could not name him. 

“Who are you?” 

The bewildered frown deepened, showing no sign of comprehension. 

“Your name?” Yuri struggled to remember a few words of the Sun Realm’s intractable tongue. Still nothing. Rather than fault his accent, Yuri switched to Cretian. “How did you get here?” 

The man’s silence continued, and Yuri racked his brain for alternatives. He was trying to discern whether his presence had even been noticed – he’d looked up, yes, but had he seen? – when a hoarse reply finally came. 

“I… fell.” 

Ships had been swept to stranger places. 

“How are you called?” Yuri chided himself for his slowness. This was not someone who’d spent so much as an hour in Iedena’s blazing sun. 

“Otabek.” The reply followed another brief pause. Was it a moment of indecision or recollection? “My name is Otabek,” he said more firmly. 

“Otabek. Are you injured?” 

“I am not certain.” 

Yuri probably should have seen that one coming, but the matter was serious enough to stop him from hissing with frustration. His untrained eye found no obvious wounds; the motley ossuary crunched under the soles of his boots as he stepped closer. 

“Does-“ 

The heavy tread of Mila’s boots interrupted him. 

“Were you expecting any visitors today, Grandmother?” Yuri couldn’t decide whether or not the situation deserved the urgency with which he’d called for her, but her arrival brought an undeniable wave of relief. “I was not.” 

“Yuri, what’s- did something happen? I…” Mila, winded from her sprint, stood panting with unfocused eyes until some soft sound – the subtle shift of shells, an unexpected breath – alerted her and she spun towards Otabek. “Who is that?” 

“That is what happened,” he whispered. “The river left him at my feet. He told me that his name is Otabek, and that he fell; he has said nothing else. He appears to be of Crete.” 

“You think he lies?” 

“I am not sure. Maybe.” 

“A threat?” 

“Not to us, at this moment. Probably.” Yuri raised his voice to address Otabek. “Can you stand?” 

“I believe so.” 

Mila’s eyes narrowed slightly.

_Problem? _Yuri asked with a tilt of his head. There was an oddness to the words, beyond the words themselves; the shape of them was wrong, but he could not say how. 

_No. _

She moved to help Otabek to his feet. 

“This must be rather overwhelming. Do you know where you are?” 

“No.” 

_What are you doing? _

She ignored Yuri’s sharp glare. “Have you any questions?” 

“No.” 

Otabek’s face held no trace of fear or deceit. He did not look around him as they started to walk. He stumbled over the precarious riverbank and onto the hard dirt path with an air of distant, unchanging preoccupation. 

It was unnerving. Yuri gritted his teeth, reminding himself that his only duty was to bring Otabek to a responsible party and leave them to sort out the mess. 

Their path followed a crumbling stone wall that marked the ancient boundary of the outer grounds. It had long since been left to its own devices. Only a few cracked rocks were visible under a thick tangle of ivy whose silver leaves seemed to shudder and twist in the lantern’s unsteady light. It tested Yuri’s already frayed nerves, drawing his eyes toward the trembling shadows; a large moth took wing as they passed and he started, nearly gasping aloud. 

He longed to extinguish the thrice-damned lantern. Yuri raged at being left blind beyond the flame’s fickle reach as the pastures gave way to the dense orchard that marked the edge of the palace grounds. 

What was he to do with Otabek? He must go to the healers, but the questions that would follow… Yuri’s instincts screamed that, at least for now, it was better to conceal the precise nature of this strange arrival. 

“Has Yakov returned?” 

“I believe so,” Mila confirmed. With that tacit reassurance, Yuri directed them to the healers’ wing. 

Otabek had said nothing since the river: a sure sign of cold and shock, Yuri told himself. That was all. 

At last they stepped from the orchard, leaving the narrow trail for a wide road flanked with lampposts. Yuri squinted against the brightness and, as his eyes adjusted, he picked out several details that had escaped his notice.

The first was that Otabek’s chiton wasn’t just dark with water. Grimy stains marred the fabric, and what Yuri had taken to be tears were ringed with black. He puzzled at them, but when his eyes shifted to the red marks that circled Otabek’s bare arms, Yuri recognized the bite of fire. 

More startling, though, was the realization that Otabek was looking around. Yuri followed his gaze, wondering what could have broken through the detachment, and found a bed of herbs – asphodel and a hundred more he could not name. Plants. Nothing more than plants. Otabek traced the irrigation channels back to the inner wall, but instead of peering through the heavy iron gates to the patches of aconite and hellebore, he turned to the illuminated windows of the palace. 

Otabek still did not speak. His observations were flat, clinical; the indifference crawled over Yuri’s skin. 

“Mila, go ahead of us. Summon Yakov if he is not there. Answer his questions.” 

> One story, and then you must sleep. 
> 
> This tale begins long ago, before fish swam in the sea, before birds flew through the air, before our thrice-great grandmothers walked upon the earth… 

“You told the Captain that you fell.” 

The men had said this several times. Otabek puzzled over it, unable to find any hints in their grave insistence. 

One sighed as he perched upon his stool like a silver bird. He rested his chin in his hand, watching Otabek. 

“The Captain reported that, when he asked of your arrival, you told him only that you fell. Is this true?” 

“Yes.” They had told him so. “That is true.” 

Pale eyes sparkled when the man smiled – blue eyes, the shining blue of midwinter and creatures that lie still and cold beneath the water. 

_Ghost eyes. _

“We only wish to understand what happened, Otabek.” It was the other one who spoke, the one with safe, steady dark eyes. “We want to help you.” 

Otabek listened. He waited. 

“Is there a reason you do not wish to answer?” 

“No.” 

“Then why do you refuse?” 

“I have not refused.” 

It would make sense when the sun rose. Until then, Otabek would endure the strangeness of night. 

“You have not answered our questions.” The man with ghost eyes was a swan, Otabek decided – a swan stripped of flesh and feathers, reveling in the freedom of clean, slender bones. “Why not?” 

“I do not understand,” Otabek replied at last. “I have answered. I have listened. I keep no secrets. I do not know what it is you desire that I have not given.” 

Otabek drifted back into nonplussed silence. He had never needed so many words before, but they flowed easily. 

“We have not asked,” mused the swan. “Yuuri?” 

“We have not asked… We have not asked. We have presented, yet not requested. We have told you what we know. Is this correct?” 

“Yes.” 

“_Selanye-ne_. Because we did not _ask-_“ 

“Hush, Victor.” The shadows moved closer, and Otabek saw unyielding bronze behind the warm brown. “You fell into the Underworld. From where did you fall?” 

> Will the sun ever rise on Sele? Ah, I cannot say, though I have been told that it will happen when the Moon forgives her sister. 
> 
> Do you know this story? I see. Well, have you ever wondered why the Sun and Moon chase each other across the sky? 
> 
> This tale begins long ago, before fish swam in the sea, before birds flew through the air, before our thrice-great grandmothers walked upon the earth…

“Why didn’t you return to your post?” 

Mila tapped Yuri’s head with the butt of her spear. “Take it up with the High Council, Captain. I thought they might keep me until the set on Yidáe.” 

“An old woman such as yourself should be in bed,” Yuri scolded. “Your watch has long since finished. Are you so tired that you have forgotten the way to your chambers?” 

“My heart is too hot yet.” She settled beside him, allowing her legs to dangle over the edge of the wall. “I did not wish to wake Sara, only to then toss and turn. Besides, I knew that I would find you here.” 

“Ah, so you are here to bother me after all.” Yuri checked their bearing against the stars. “Directly ahead of us lies Alciena. Can you see?” 

“Gods, no – I washed away my _theia_ before I spoke with the Council.” Mila’s eyes were pink. Yuri grimaced, remembering her complaints of how the ointment stung at the end of a long watch. “Not that I could see a black river in your black sky if I drank it for a year.” 

“Can you drink- no, I’ve smelled the healers’ hall as they prepare it. Now.” Yuri traced an unseen map on the stones as he spoke. “Alciena is before us. She feeds the river, which then flow towards the Hunter’s Star until it meets the caves, which should be… here, I think.

There was a watchtower here, where the river splits. It was torn apart for the stone, but the footpaths remain. I plan to request that the Council approve funds to have them cleared so that guards may be set by the half-moon.” 

“You believe Otabek’s path could be used to attack Iedena’s delegation?” 

“Something of that manner,” Yuri snorted. “The Sun King himself deigns to pay us a visit. A valuable opportunity, don’t you think?”

“Yuri, do you truly-“ 

“When we speak of one said to have cut down his family to seize the crown?” 

“A rumor, nothing more.”

“As the whole of my duty is to maintain peace and counter threats to the Council, I prefer to take reasonable precautions.” 

“By justifying your personal dislike with stories we tell to scare children? His brother-“ 

“His surviving brother.”

“Very well, yes. His _surviving_ brother stood beside him.” Mila sighed. “Yuri, I cede to your judgements of Sele and Crete, as the First of Fifty Heads, but you do not understand Yidáene. Even if it was true – if that was the price for peace, then so be it.” 

“Nothing like a bit of murder to restore faith in the Crown.” 

“And the Council’s hands are clean?” 

“The Council defended the Court! No one wanted power to return to some supposed royal bloodline. They did what was necessary.” 

Mila quirked a brow. Yuri’s glower faded slightly. 

“Fine. I see your point. However, do you have faith that the king’s actions- fine, his hypothetical actions- were solely for the good of Iedena?” 

She didn’t reply.

“Nor do I. And, if he was willing to kill for power once, he will do so again if the chance presents itself. Therefore, we make certain that no such opportunity arises.” 

They sat in silence for a moment. 

“What did you think of Otabek?” Mila asked, and Yuri blinked at the sudden change of topic. 

“I do not know. I cannot say that I think him a spy or assassin, but beyond that…” He frowned. “You spoke with the High Council for a long while. Have you suspicions?” 

“I was of little assistance, I’m afraid. I mostly waited as Lilia conferred with the Archontes.” 

“Did you-“ He stopped at Mila’s yawn. “Go on, then. We can speak later.” 

“Sleep beckons. Goodnight, Yuri.” 

Yuri shook off his frustration as she stood. It was not important enough to keep her; yet, as he sat alone atop the wall, Otabek’s voice filled Yuri’s ears. 

His accent was not Cretian, Yuri realized. 

It had been too many hours since Yuri last rested, and he had every intention of falling into bed until someone roused him for dinner. Instead, he found himself in the library, eyes sticky with the dust of half-forgotten stories, until the tolling of a distant bell summoned him to the Council’s table. 

> The Moon refused to speak to the Sun, who had hurt her so when she tried to chase away the darkness. Ieden swore that she had wished nothing more than to see her sister’s face at last, but Sele heard only mockery in the words.

“A further tax on the vineyards will not be popular-“

“And allowing the bridges to crumble would be received with still less gratitude,” Victor countered. “Christophe, I am aware that you will bear the brunt of their displeasure, but it does appear to be the best option at this point.” 

“I do not refer to the vintners. They will simply raise the price of wine, which would leave everyone else banging at the gates.” 

“Angry, but not hungry or cold,” added Yuuri. 

Yuri did his best to avoid blinking out of fear that, should he close his eyes for an instant, sleep would claim him – that is, if it hadn’t already. 

The High Council’s exhaustion was obvious in Yuuri’s pallor and Victor’s reddened eyes. Yakov’s normally short temper was nonexistent, and while Lilia and Minako showed no outward signs of fatigue, their comments were brief and terse. However, without a word regarding Otabek’s arrival, they had launched into an unending debate on taxes and infrastructure. 

Yuri concluded that they had decided to keep the matter from the general Council for the time being as he tried to form an opinion on the cost of wine. If they pinched the bull, Yuri would be left holding its horns, but he could not summon the energy necessary to care. 

“We will vote in three days’ time,” Lilia announced at last. “If anyone wishes to present an alternative, they may do so then.” 

Yuuri cleared his throat. “The Council is dismissed.” 

If Yuri hadn’t already planned to remain seated, Victor’s grip on his elbow would have made the decision for him. He chewed on his lip until the chamber emptied. 

“What of Otabek?” 

“We have determined that Otabek poses little threat to the Court.” Yuuri pressed his fingertips to his temples. “His stay will be spent within the inner grounds, but he will not be left unobserved.”

“He’s a-“ 

“Otabek is not a prisoner,” Victor explained calmly. “We were led to understand that he was being pursued by an unknown enemy, and we have offered him sanctuary. I am certain that the danger was left at our border, if indeed it existed at all, but we’re not as reckless as some might assume.” 

“Very well.” Yuri was too tired to argue the point. “I will restructure the patrol schedule to allow for the additional shifts.” 

“There is, ah, a slight complication,” ventured Yuuri.

“Really.” His temple throbbed. This entire thing was a complication, but there was nothing slight about it. “If you could elaborate?” 

“We have decided that, given the circumstances, it would be unwise to draw attention to Otabek’s presence here. It’s…” Yuuri sighed. “Complicated. The strangeness of his arrival here- it’s safer that his identity, and the circumstances that brought him here, are shared only when necessary.” 

“Well, that will, without doubt, draw even more attention. You ask me to lie to my guards?” 

“You speak the language of Crete and know more of its culture than most.” Victor smiled. “And we trust you.” 

Yuri’s curiosity flared. He beat it back. 

“I have enough duties to attend to already! I cannot spend my days-“ 

“Minako’s apprentice will take responsibility for all tasks that do not require your direct attention. Equipment inventory, expenditure reports, items of that nature,” Yuuri said, a teasing hint to his voice; they all knew that Yuri could not pass up a chance to avoid paperwork. 

_Selanye-ne_, they’d tied his sandals together and Yuri couldn’t even complain.

> I too wish to see Iedena, but it is not safe for us. They are afraid- no, not of you nor I. It is Sele’s darkness that they fear. 
> 
> Do they tell stories of us? Ah, everyone tells stories, and our stories are often not so different… let me see. Yes. In one tale, Sele and Iedena are sisters. They were born twins, and here, it was Sele who betrayed her sister. She was jealous, or so it is told, because she believed that Iedena burned more brightly. 
> 
> You wish to hear the story? Very well, but you must be patient and quiet, for I have not thought of it in many years. 
> 
> It began long ago, when the seas had no salt, when the air had no clouds, before the Sunseeker’s thrice-great grandmothers walked the earth, and when two suns burned in the sky…

“I remember you.” 

“Do you?” Yuri stifled his surprise. Otabek’s voice, no longer hoarse with exhaustion, was deep and pleasant; he spoke in plain, even tones, each word weighed upon an invisible scale. “I didn’t think you would.”

“I do.” 

Otabek trailed off. His gaze, which had been so intense the moment before, slipped away, but it didn’t fade into the glazed distance Yuri expected to form. A silent battle raged in Otabek’s eyes, and whatever he was going to say was struck down before it could pass his lips. 

“What do you remember?”

“More than I wish to. Less than I should.” Otabek’s attention grew solid again; Yuri inhaled sharply as the whole of its force landed on him. “Of you? At first, I thought you were the sun.” 

It was Yuri’s turn to be speechless. Their roles had reversed: Otabek continued, mesmerizing and mesmerized. 

“They told me it was brief, but the darkness did not end. It stopped. It did not end. I remembered what it felt like to forget – the memories did not come, only the moment at which they were taken from… as they were lost.” He paused. Yuri held his breath, afraid to break the spell. “Then you raised your lantern. It was so bright against the black and I knew that, somehow, I had found the sun. You asked me who I was. I could not answer. I dreamed that I was myself. The wrong name was on my tongue and I knew that I must not allow it to go free.” 

“What name? Can you tell me?” 

Otabek softened from granite to flesh. 

“It was only a dream,” he said quietly. “Dreams do not last.” 

“You don’t remember.” 

“I gave you my name. I have no other.” 

Something had changed, and the man who sat before him was not the one who had spoken of darkness and stolen memories. 

“You haven’t left this chamber.” Yuri’s heart pounded, loud enough to drown out whatever thought had spurred its beat. “The door isn’t locked. You’re free to do as you like.” 

“As I like,” echoed Otabek. 

_Except leave the palace, _Yuri added silently. He turned to walk from the room, eager to leave Otabek’s not-presence; those brief moments left Yuri feeling as if he was trying to speak with a ghost. 

His heart quieted, and Yuri saw what had sent it racing. 

“When I first asked your name, you couldn’t understand me. I wasn’t speaking Cretian.” 

Otabek stared through him, unseeing. “It was only a dream.” 

Talk of destiny should be left to the gods, but he was certain that the three of them – the watchman, the dreamer, and the dreamed – had been bound together with Fate’s fine thread. Swirling stories accompanied Yuri as he stepped into the hall.


End file.
